


I Can Definitely Help You

by VeraBAdler



Series: October 2019 challenges [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Punk Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: Dean discovers a new store in a place where it absolutely can't be. What's inside will change his life.Prompt 1: DragonPrompt 2: "The Cloak of Midnight"





	I Can Definitely Help You

Dean has lived in Lebanon his whole life. And it's not like he patrols the town on a regular schedule or anything, but he definitely walks down this particular street a couple times a month. It's the fastest route to his barber, for one thing. His dentist's office is down this way. There's a pretty decent Thai place on the next block.

So yeah, Dean knows this street, knows the shops and offices that line it, and this store isn't here. It _can't_ be here. It's never been here before, and it can't be here now, even though Dean's staring right at it, and it seems like the complete opposite of new construction.

Dean takes another look at the stores on either side of this store that can't exist. To the left, there's a travel agent. Dean's never gone inside, but he remembers, as a kid, being fascinated with the dusty little toy planes and trains set up in their window. To the right, well, it's currently a vape shop, but six months ago Dean's pretty sure it was a nail salon. Six months before that, mediocre sandwich joint. Businesses grind in and out of that location on a regular basis, none staying more than a year.

The point is, however, that last week when Dean had walked down this street, the travel agent had been _next_ to the vape shop. Now there is an entire other store between them, looking for all the world like it's been sitting in that spot for years.

The weathered wooden sign out front reads "The Cloak of Midnight," and Dean would scoff at the cheesy drama of it all, except the name is kind of perfect for this place. The storefront is paneled with worn, dark siding and the display windows are curtained in heavy purple cloth. The whole building exudes an air of immutability, of very great age, and _it wasn't here last week_. 

It might be the worst idea ever, but Dean's just gotta know the story here, so he steps through the door. As soon as he enters, the bright buzz of the outside world disappears behind him. The store is welcoming, filled with soft, indirect lighting, and there's a hush so complete that Dean can hear himself breathing. Every wall is lined with shelves, and every shelf is stuffed -- with books, with bottles, with boxes... There's no apparent order to it, but it still feels tidy.

He's looking around idly, alone in the shop, when suddenly he isn't. There's no other way to describe it; one second he's the only person in the room, then he blinks and there's a petite redhead standing in front of him.

“Helloooo,” she coos, as Dean flinches back. “What is it you're needin' today?” Her voice is a lilting tune, the rhythm of her words bumped along by a soft Scottish burr.

Dean stammers a bit, still recovering from the shock of her appearance. “Uh, oh, I-I... Just looking.”

“Ah, but that's not how this works,” she purrs. “No one comes in here if they don't need something that I can provide.”

“N-no, really,” Dean replies. “I'm good. I just stopped in because...” He stops, clears his throat. He can't help it, he _has_ to ask. “Has this place always been here? I mean... That sounds weird. I mean, I've lived in this town all my life and I've never noticed you before.”

The woman hums. “Oh, I've been here a very long time indeed. But as I said, no one comes in here if I can't help them. If you found me today, then I have something you need.” She looks him over with a critical eye. “What is it you're lookin' for, then? Wealth? Power?” She leans closer and leers. “_Potency_? Havin' issues with the machinery, are we?”

“What?! No! No issues here.” Dean rubs at the back of his neck and the skin there is hot, flushed with embarrassment and confusion. “I'm a mechanic. My machinery runs fine.”

The redhead peers at him again. “Oh, aye. I c'n see that now. And apparently I misspoke.”

“M-Misspoke?”

“Most definitely. What _you_ need, _I_ cannot provide.”

Absurdly, Dean feels his heart drop. He still has no idea what's going on here, and ten minutes ago he hadn't known this place existed. But he hadn't been able to suppress a little surge of excitement at the thought that this strange woman had something he needed. For her to take that back already? It stings.

“Never fear,” she continues. “My apprentice is just the man you need.” She smirks knowingly at Dean, then turns and calls, “Castiel!”

From the back of the store, a voice like distant thunder rumbles in. “Yes, Rowena?”

“You're wanted!” she announces.

No sudden, mysterious manifestations this time – the man walks into the room through a curtained doorway like a normal person. But there's nothing normal about this man; he's Dean's every erotic fantasy come to life.

He's about Dean's height, although he'd be a couple inches shorter without the thick black boots he's wearing. He's _stacked_ – thick thighs wrapped in snug denim, a navy blue Henley shirt stretched tight across firm biceps and a broad chest. His black hair is short and messy, with bright blue highlights scattered throughout. A tattoo of a dragon climbs up one side of his neck. There are a half-dozen silver hoops lining the edge of his left ear. His jawline is sharp enough to shred paper. His nose is perfectly straight. His mouth is broad and generous. And his eyes, outlined heavily in kohl, are the cornflower blue of a clear June day.

Their gazes lock, and Dean's knees turn to pudding.

“Castiel, this is Dean,” the woman, _Rowena_, is saying. And when Castiel offers a gummy grin and a “Hello, Dean,” Dean doesn't even care that he never told Rowena his name, because she's exactly right – this is _just_ the man he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Rowena. I hope I did okay!
> 
> A rebloggable link for this fic on tumblr is [here](https://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/188299067566/october-12-i-can-definitely-help-you).


End file.
